THE VEGAN DOUGHNUT SHOP by Tony Macklin Comments Welcome
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THE VEGAN DOUGHNUT SHOP By Tony Macklin Comments welcome: [email protected] Additional fiction and film reviews: http://tonymacklin.net This work was originally published at http://tonymacklin.net/the-vegan-doughnut-shop.html (PDF version: http://tonymacklin.net/the-vegan-doughnut-shop.pdf) This entire work is copyrighted (2011) by Tony Macklin. All rights reserved. Chapter 1: Reader, Beware Please be skeptical. Don't jump to conclusions. Everybody always seems to jump to conclusions, and they're often wrong -- in literature and in life. Let's see how discerning you are. We'll start with one morning. I was nudged awake. I opened my eyes, focused, and saw brown eyes looking into mine. Morning, sleepyhead," Gale murmured. Ok, what's the situation? Who am I? Who is Gale? What am I doing in Gale's bed? Ok, Gale is a woman. It's a woman's name. No, wrong. You mean Gale is not a woman's name? Sometimes. But not this time. Gale is a man. [ed. Gale was named after a football player, not an old sitcom star or Oprah's friend.] Then I must be a woman. Wrong again. "Nic, you look like hell," Gale said. "Gotta shave that beard," he laughed. I'm a bearded lady? Of course not. We're both guys. What am I doing in his bed? Uh oh, we're gay. No, wrong for the third time. Sometimes guys just share the same bed. [ed. Quequeg and Ishmael shared a bed in Moby Dick.] Sometimes when Gale and I are out on a case or in a bar, we come home and share Gale's bed; it's king- sized so there's plenty of room. Last night we came home late after a night in the bar, and crashed. But the point is you've probably jumped to three presumptions that were all false: 1) that Gale is woman, 2) I'm a woman, and 3) we're gay. Wrong, wrong, and wrong. Nice start. Chapter 2: War and Peace Gale and I met in the war. We became friends over there, and saved each other's lives more than once. On our return we joined the police force -- he became a member of the mounted police, but he rode to his own rhythm, which at times put him in danger, mostly from his peers. I was a lowlier member of the force, who didn't cause trouble. When pushed I could react, but I avoided unnecessary encounters. We were very different in temperament, but alike in important ways; each of us could be gregarious, but didn't like socializing. We knew the streets. I was the softie and he was the hardass. But times were changing abruptly. Education, religion, and law enforcement were becoming corporate, strangling the past with the bottom line. The mounted police were being phased out by economics and depreciation. We both were eligible for early retirement. We didn't like what law enforcement had become, so we took it. Gale and I moved into a rented house in the age-restricted neighborhood, bonded by our shared experiences. Females didn't interfere much with our lives. Gale had been divorced, but he had a former colleague whom he visited in a hotel when she was in town, and I had a lady up the street. Gale and I started a small detective business. We didn't do big jobs, but we kept active. We had a sense of the past. We weren't corporate. Chapter 3: Veronica and Jughead My first editor didn't work out. He wanted to take over and assert his own style; I just wasn't comfortable with him. He told me, "Nic, your name reminds me of Nick Adams. Or better yet, Nick Carraway. You can tell your story about Gale Barbry, the same way Carraway told about Jay Gatsby. Your point of view is first person participant." Huh, I just wanted to tell about Gale and our life and make some sense out of it. He suggested with a laugh that I call the book The Great Barbry. Gale was a lot of things, but great wasn't one of them. "You're a kind of Watson," he said. "Or he's Sherlock, and you're a Baskerville." The esteemed editor also quoted Shakespeare: "Hamlet said, 'Readiness is all.' Lear said, 'Ripeness is all.' For you, Nic, presentation is all." I'm sure he said it to all his charges. It made me leary -- Gale would like that. He likes puns. The editor also wanted me to add more plot -- "Plot sells." Later he added, "Words are like coins." That was an idea I knew wouldn't appeal to Gale. Coinage often became counterfeit. He hated words that were false. He once said to me, "Listen to the next ten things you hear people say. At least five of them will not say what they actually mean. It's a test everybody should take. But people don't care -- they just make sounds." More plot? I didn't want to just make it up. "Boswell took liberties for Samuel Johnson," the editor said. I eventually told him to take his Johnson out the door -- or something to that effect. I wanted someone with a lighter touch, not just someone who forced me around in highfaluting literary circles. Veronica answered the call. At first I thought she was a man, because she had been called Ronnie. She was recommended by an ex-colleague. Gale said you're only as good as the people who help you. "It's funny. But I think four out of five who most influenced me were female, but four out of five who most helped me get ahead were male," he said. "Women affect; men effect." I was glad he never said that to Veronica. She did both. Like Gale, Veronica cared about language. She referred to us as Thunder and Lightning. I provided the flash. He provided the Thunder. Chapter 4: The Proud and the Peevish Everybody has pet peeves, but for Gale they were a minefeld that maimed language. He treated them as threats, not as duds as most people did. They annoyed others. We knew one woman who complained when people called children "kids." She'd grumble, "Kids are goats, not children." An old friend of Gale was bothered by "Irregardless." "It's regardless; there's no such thing as irregardless [sic]," he'd complain. An acquaintance of ours got stirred up when people used "historical" rather than "historic." Or was it historic rather than historical? I don't think Gale even knew the difference. Other people's irritations seem irrelevant. Our own fester. Gale was avid about all language. Like most people, I don't care much about it. If necessary, I'll make my opinions known, but that's it. Gale had enough opinions for both of us. Chapter 5: You Know, I Mean, You Know, I Mean, You Know, I Mean Our drives to and from Oliver's were some kind of trip. Oliver’s was a vegan doughnut shop. We almost always listened to sports talk on the radio. It never took any time for Gale to be annoyed. "I've invented a drinking game," he said one time before turning on the radio. "Every time we hear someone say 'you know' we'll take a shot. By the time we get four blocks, we'll be buzzed." Gale turned on the radio, and we heard the guy speaking say 'you know' three times in his first sentence. Gale chortled. He was drunk with bile. It was very rare that we didn't hear the talker say 'you know" several times almost immediately. "No, I don't know," yelled Gale. "Tell me, moron!" All the athletes, coaches, and media said "you know" again and again. "The record is held by the leading sportsbook manager in Vegas," Gale told me. "He said "you know" four times in a single sentence. Yeah, I'm going to trust his handicapping. Man can't even talk." "I mean" was another pair of words that Gale couldn't stand. "Of course, you mean it, you said it," he seethed. One handicapper we listened to on the air liked to say, "Etcetera," but he'd pronounce it with an X. "90% of the people who use that word mispronounce it," said Gale. "They also leave the first R out of February and the second I out of Poinsettia. And if they knew the word plebeian, they'd leave the E out of that." And he also kept correcting the use of the word "further." "He didn't hit the ball further," he would complain. "It's not time and space; it's distance." Further or farther? What's a letter between fiends? Chapter 6: What Played Second Base If sports talk on the radio was ugly for Gale, announcers on television doing a game were even worse. The nadir for Gale was the phrase, "I'll tell you what." The majority of announcers said, "I'll tell you what." "It's meaningless," said Gale almost with disbelief. "Tell me. Not what. Just tell me." "It makes no sense," he said. "But nearly every announcer says it; it seems like they all learn this in announcing school. ESPN must insist on it, and the other stations follow in their decibels." There also was a single word whose usage made Gale want to fight. Sports talk radio, the announcers, and the public all had a word which they used for anything that was average or even slightly above average.